The Clash of the Houses
by PigZ
Summary: A kind of Hunger Games AU where Voldemort won the first war and as a celebration for his fifteenth year in power, he announces a tournament where four students from each Hogwarts House are selected and pitted against one another in a fight to the death. Selected, Harry must find a way to make sure he and his friends don't die before the rebellion against Voldemort has even begun.


The decoration of the Great Hall caught Harry off guard. Instead of the usual house flags hanging above their respective tables, they'd been replaced by Slytherin ones. In fact, Slytherin colors were everywhere: tapestries on the walls, flags and banners hanging from the ceiling, the tablecloths (on each table, not just the Slytherin one), everywhere.

Confused and irrationally angry at the color scheme, Harry walked to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to his best friend, Neville.

"So what's this big announcement?" he asked, scooping some mashed potatoes onto his dinner plate. Headmaster Rosier's voice had sounded through the castle an hour earlier stating that every student was to attend tonight's feast for a special announcement from their Lord or suffer extreme consequences.

"No idea," Neville answered, shrugging. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "But whatever it is, it's got the Slytherins all riled up."

Harry turned his head and observed the table furthest from his own. Since the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were so far from each other, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was out of the norm but he eventually caught on. The students at the Slytherin table were showing more emotion than Harry had ever seen them show. Eager smiles were plastered on several faces making Harry's eyebrows raise in surprise. He didn't know if he'd ever actually seen one of them _smile_. There were several groups leaning in close to one another, gesturing wildly with their hands and arms, revealing their enthusiasm and excitement for whatever was to come. If Harry hadn't known better, he might have mistaken them for Gryffindors. It was very strange. And very worrying.

Harry suddenly felt nervous.

"It's definitely not good for us then," he said after turning back to Neville. He removed his wand and summoned and buttered croissant from down the table. It startled several fellow Gryffindors as it flew past their faces like an unexpected bludger. He caught it and bit into it with force.

"I wonder what it could be," said Ron Weasley. He was sitting across from Harry and was his other best friend at Hogwarts.

"Who knows," said Neville. "It could be anything."

"Obviously, but it's got to be something _really_ big. Don't you know what day it is?"

"Of course I know what day it is," Neville said with such force it startled Harry a little and made him jump. "It's the fifteenth anniversary of the war's end. We're not likely to forget that, Ronald."

Harry, who had in fact forgotten what day it was, suddenly stilled. His fork hung in midair in front of his face, a piece of pork chop hanging from the tip and dripping grease. How could he have forgotten what day it was? He marked every Halloween on his calendar just so he _wouldn't_ forget. It was the day he hated above all others and it was embarrassing he hadn't realized. Suddenly understanding his irrational anger from earlier, Harry tensed and took several deep breathes, trying to calm himself so he wouldn't erupt like a raging volcano.

"You alright there, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yes, m' fine." He moved his fork the rest of the way and started to eat again.

"You don't think they caught _him_, do you?" Ron asked.

"Impossible," Harry said at once. He didn't even need to think on it. He was that certain.

Ron looked both sceptic and relieved at the same time.

"Harry's right," Neville said. "He definitely hasn't been captured or killed. We'd know for sure if he had been. Gran would have made sure to let us know. She'd have found a way."

"Well what in Merlin's name could it be then?" Ron asked, frustrated.

"I think we're about to find out." Neville nodded towards the doors. "Bagman's here."

Harry turned and watched as the Director of Magical Games and Sports walked into the Great Hall and slowly made his way to the head table. If Harry was reading him right, he looked anxious. Beads of sweat were clinging to his face and brow like bees to honey. He had a small, almost unnoticeable tremble to his arms and legs that would have been impossible to notice if he hadn't been trained to do so. Either Bagman had just suffered under the Cruciatus or he was terrified and doing his best to hide it.

"What's he doing here?" Harry asked, turning back to his friends.

"Not sure," Neville answered. "He's a clue though. Whatever this big announcement is, it's probably sports related."

"Quidditch?" Ron asked, perking up a bit.

"No," said Harry, wanting to pound Ron's head for his naivety. "It's definitely not Quidditch. Bagman's a Quidditch fanatic. Does he look at all happy to be here?"

"Maybe they're restarting the Tri-Wizard Tournament?" Neville suggested.

Bagman reached the head table and sat down next to Snape.

"Really? Awesome!"

Harry shrugged. "It's a possibility. But since the Slytherins are so excited, it's probably something worse."

"Worse?"

"I agree with Harry. _He_ would make som—" Neville stopped speaking and jumped up from his seat so fast it was as if he flew. His fork and knife clattered to the wooden table, the noise of their vibration sounding like a bomb in the suddenly quiet Great Hall. He put his hands behind his back and bowed his head.

Startled, Harry jumped up as well. He went so fast he almost banged his knees on the underside of the table. Luckily, he didn't and was able to stand up straight, clasp his hands behind his back, and bow his head—just like every person in the Great Hall.

A single pair of footsteps started to make their way across the stone floor. They took their time, slow step after slow step, as they made their way through the silenced hall.

Harry tensed when the footsteps sounded as if they were right behind him. He tried to hide it as best as he could. He tried to bury the fear, anger, and disgust he felt and replace it with forced calmness but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Which meant he failed.

Again.

Against all his attempts to resist, nervous sweat began to form on his forehead, under his arms, and behind his knees.

It was a habit he'd tried so hard to rid himself of but ended up failing at every time. No matter who attempted to help him, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop from tensing in fear, anger, and self-disgust whenever Lord Voldemort entered the room. It made him sick to his stomach whenever he was forced to bow and submit before the monster who'd murdered his and Neville's parents among countless others.

Harry hated having his back to him, making him defenseless against the monster in case he decided to finish of the Potter family once and for all. He still wasn't sure why Voldemort hadn't killed him or Neville the night he killed both their parents but he was glad. Glad, not thankful. He'd never be thankful to Lord Voldemort for anything.

But once again Harry endured. He endured it because it wasn't yet time. _He_ would let them know when the time came. Somehow, he'd find a way. He always did.

Eventually the footsteps passed by and Harry tried to regain control of himself. It wasn't usually this bad but with it being the anniversary of his parents' murder, he was struggling a little more than usual. It was understandable, he knew, but unacceptable. If he'd been caught, he may have been legilimized, and that would have meant death.

"Sit down." Voldemort's cold voice was barely above a whisper but it carried through the hall without effort.

Harry sat down and used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. When finished, he looked up at Voldemort like everyone else. The Dark Lord stood tall in front of the head table, observing the crowds of students with his crimson red eyes, no doubt taking in every single detail there was to be seen.

"Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate fifteen years of pure, magical superiority." Voldemort removed his yew wand from his cloak with his wax-looking hands and caressed it. "It has been quite some time since the magically strong have ruled over the lesser. In fact, it hasn't been since the height of the Roman Empire where such an event has occurred.

"Tonight, we shall honor our ancestors. Not just our familial ties like we do each and every day, but our magical ancestors worldwide. We shall honor those who came before us, those who reigned supreme over the lesser creatures inhabiting our earth for over five-hundred years.

"To do this, I will be resurrecting an ancient Roman tradition for all of Hogwarts to partake in. A tradition so mighty, names from two-thousand years ago are still remembered today."

Alarm bells were going off in Harry's mind. He wasn't sure on the specifics, but knew without a doubt it was nothing good. He turned and made eye contact with Neville and Ron. Neville looked exactly like Harry pictured himself to look: confused, angry, and wary. Ron, however, looked confused, angry, and intrigued all at once. Harry wanted to throttle him for looking intrigued.

"Tonight, I am pleased to announce the _Clash of the Houses_. In ancient Rome, champions were selected and placed against one another in a fight to the death for the entertainment of the masses. The winners often received praise, gifts, and glory from the reigning emperor. Tonight, four students from each house will be selected and pitted against one another in an arena of my creation."

Harry was sure his heart stopped. Gasps sounded throughout the hall which he barely heard. He was too busy looking at every single face he knew, fearful for all of them. Any of them could be selected. Any of them could be forced to their death. Harry felt bile rise up in his throat but he swallowed it and forced it down.

Voldemort ignored the gasps and continued speaking.

"The last student remaining, the winner, shall receive three years of training from me _personally_ where I shall groom him or her for the position in our world they want most."

Voldemort paused for applause, mostly from the Slytherin table but Harry was disgusted to see that a majority of students from the other houses, including his own, were applauding as well, acting like it was some huge honor to be selected and kill your friends and fellow classmates for personal gain.

A sudden flash burned his retinas followed by several more. He rubbed his eyes, and through the brief flickers of sight he had, Harry saw a group of reporters he hadn't noticed before standing in the doorway of the Great Hall snapping numerous pictures and scribbling away in notepads.

Harry turned away and blinked several times. When his sight returned fully, he saw Neville and Ron staring at each other, resigned.

Harry also noticed several more resigned stares around him. He didn't think half the students were strong enough to deal with this, himself included, but he was a fighter. If he was selected, he'd do his best to survive to the end. He didn't know how he'd do that without outright murdering his fellow classmates, but he'd find a way. There was always a way. He wouldn't stand around, crying, waiting to die. He'd do something. He'd fight till the end.

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Voldemort raise a hand; the hall fell silent once again.

"The selection of our champions shall be random. Tonight, each student shall write their _full_ name and house upon a piece of parchment I will provide you." Voldemort lazily waved his wand and the plates in front of every student were transfigured into a piece of parchment, the silverware into quills, and the food into bowls of ink.

Despite his reluctance to be impressed by the magic, Harry was.

"When finished, simply hold the parchment above your head. They will be summoned into this." With another wave of his wand, a gigantic goblet appeared from nowhere directly next to the Dark Lord. Bright blue fire burst upward from the goblet like an erupting volcano before dying down into a steady, calm flame.

"The Goblet of Fire will verify each and every student name inserted into its flame and check it against the Hogwarts roster I have supplied it with. If, for some reason, a student is foolish enough to write a name down that isn't his or her own, I will be very... _displeased_."

A sudden chill blew through the Great Hall causing many students to shiver at the sheer coldness of it, himself included.

"Begin writing," Voldemort commanded.

Harry turned once again to his friends.

"Blimey," Ron said. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Me either," said Neville.

"What are we going to do?" Ron asked.

"Survive," Harry said.

He wrote his name and house on the parchment set before him and raised it into the air. It was jerked from his fingers and joined the others.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if he'd just sealed his fate as his name got consumed by the, once again, raging blue flame.


End file.
